


What Once Was Broken is Now Gold

by HoneyButterYum



Series: Under Repair [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: American Sign Language, Amputation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Cults, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Sex, Fluff, Gavin Reed Redemption, Gavin cries, Gavin doesn't talk about his feelings because he's an absolute dumbass, Hospitalization, I accidentally made Gavin a tsundere, Idiots in Love, M/M, Needles, Nines is strangely good at taking care of distressed detectives, Panic Attacks, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, Slow Burn, Teasing, Touch-Starved Gavin Reed, Undercover Missions, Voice Kink, aaaand I think that'll be it for the tags for now, accidental undercover missions, all that's left is:, in this house we call RK900 Nines, it may seem like it is but there are Moments okay, like a lot, not all of this is depressing I promsie, not my fic if voice kink isn't tagged, owo, question mark?, very little needle action here though no worries, which is technically a lie but gavin wants to think otherwise, with a little twist since RK900 is here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23314105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyButterYum/pseuds/HoneyButterYum
Summary: “My name is Gavin Reed,” he rasped into the recorder, the edges of his vision blurring into the blue walls while RK900 watched on, faceless. Sentinel. “And…I fucking lost my arm in a car accident.”
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson/Connor, Tina Chen & Gavin Reed, Tina Chen & Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Under Repair [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1228109
Comments: 35
Kudos: 182





	1. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Welcome to the rewritten version of this story of mine. If you're new here, glad to have you! I hope you enjoy! :) If you're a veteran, it's good to have you back, and I hope you like this version of WOWBING! (yes, the acronym is WOWBING, I love it and hate it too lmao) But either way, here we go!! Thanks for reading! :D

His eyes cracked open and he felt nothing. Colors and light swam in his vision while his heartbeat pulsed in his throat, the only thing that let him know his body was here, wherever ‘here’ was. Gavin dragged his gaze across as much of the room as he could, his head unable to turn. Pale blue walls stared back at him, pressed against him, while dead ahead a curtain hung between him and the door, no pattern on the cloth save for dark blue bubbles along the bottom. 

The white plastic of his bed’s footboard caught his eye. And then, to the left, was an IV drip that led straight to him.

Gavin’s breath left his throat in a weak, raspy puff. For what felt like ages, he couldn’t gain that breath back, his heart pounding to the rhythm of his lungs—fast, yet unable to do anything of much value, and then the beeps came—

He couldn’t hear anything, this room echoing with a rapid _beep! Beep! Beep!_ that just kept repeating and going on and on and Gavin couldn’t take it, his body was so cold and so hot and then— Hands were on his forehead and they moved but he couldn’t feel where they went, he couldn’t feel anything, and then, and then….

“It’s okay, shh, it’s okay,” went on and on, almost like the beeping, but this woman’s voice blocked it out, her blurry head too far in Gavin’s peripheral for the merging colors of her face to sharpen into something recognizable, but soon, the beeping slowed, and Gavin could breathe. 

“Can you hear me?” the woman continued, stepping back in a haze of blue, Gavin’s eyes unable to take in anything about her except the dark expanse of her face, her features too blurry, far too blurry that if Gavin tried focusing, his eyes watered and his head _ached_ from the strain. “Blink twice if yes, okay?”

Gavin tried letting out a sound, anything, as confirmation, but it caught in his lungs and tore up his throat, ending in another lifeless puff at his lips. He resigned himself to blink once, then twice, and the water layer over his eyes dripped down his cheeks. 

The woman—doctor, nurse?—didn’t mention it. “I’m gonna take you off the anesthesia now, okay? It’ll take a few minutes, so just relax. The doctor’s on her way.” 

Though he tried to speak, Gavin’s heavy tongue took up too much room in his mouth, almost too malleable for what it was. A grunt ripped its way out of him as his tongue caught on his teeth. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the nurse murmured the word as she became a mass in Gavin’s vision, her hand a dull pressure on his jaw. “You’re hurting yourself; please don’t try to move much, okay? We’ll help you soon.” She brought what looked like a water bottle to Gavin’s lips. “Drink this for now. It’ll make it easier for you when you can start moving again. I’ll go slow so it doesn’t spill.”

The water was cool against his tongue, and now Gavin could feel the plastic of the bottle against his lips, his tongue not as heavy as it had been. He drank, and the itchy rawness at the back of his throat became almost nonexistent. The nurse pulled the drink away, and Gavin tested his neck, turning toward the nurse with bleary eyes, his muscles lethargic and his brain even more so. 

Nothing made sense. Gavin tested the words on his tongue before he let them leave his lips, the itch in his throat threatening to appear again if he moved. But before he could get the words out, footsteps came up to the door, and Gavin didn’t have the strength to turn his head to follow her as the nurse left his vision to greet the doctor. 

They talked about his current condition, and while the nurse brought the doctor up to speed, a third figure walked into Gavin’s peripheral, hesitated, then went to his bedside and pulled up a chair from the wall. The figure was nothing but a white blur, his hands a pale mass, folded in his lap. 

Gavin coughed, his sandpaper throat roughing up his words as he croaked out, “Who’re you? The coroner?”

The white figure let out a dull—no, tense?—laugh. “I would advise against trying to speak.” 

“You didn’t an—” 

“No, I am not a coroner.” The figure peered at him, and all Gavin could make of him was his eyeless face, his features swimming in the sea of his skin. “But I was planning to be your partner before Captain Fowler informed me of your accident.” 

Gavin groaned, or, tried to, the sound breaking off into a rapid succession of coughs. “Can’t get a fuckin’ break from work,” he wheezed. 

The figure didn’t respond, just sat, silent, as the nurse moved to check Gavin’s IV drip and the doctor followed behind. She turned to Gavin, her dark brown face swaddled in pink fabric. “I’m glad to finally meet you, Gavin,” the doctor said, and something curled in Gavin’s stomach, wary and lost. It didn’t help that she didn’t have a face. “My name is Dr. Quinn.” 

“Did I die?” Gavin forced out through the itch working its way back up his raw throat, his eyes pricking with unshed tears. The nurse brought another bottle of water to his lips. 

Dr. Quinn shook her head, her movements a blur. “No, remarkably. You’ve been hospitalized for a while now—”

“Wuh?” Gavin nosed the water bottle away, his limbs like lead at his sides. The room’s edges quivered in his peripheral. “A—a while?”

Silence met his words for a second too long. “You’ve been unconscious for five weeks,” Dr. Quinn said. The rest of her words faded behind the ringing in Gavin’s ears and again came that incessant beeping and Gavin couldn’t think, couldn’t remember— His body thrummed to the beat of his heart, his heated skin boiling against this hospital’s cold, sterile bed. 

Pain. Gavin exhaled a hiss through his teeth, a deep ache under his skin, prickling needles of ice piercing his body to its bones. 

“Get him more morphine,” Dr. Quinn snapped behind Gavin’s wall of white noise. Again there were hands on him, and Gavin grit his teeth until his jaw throbbed from the strain. His tongue gushed blood as his vision faded, in and out, and gentle hands pried open his jaw and tipped his head to the side, blood and tears leaking from his lips. 

A sob echoed in the room, noiseless yet full of so much at the same time. All those unfamiliar hands held him still as the pain faded, inch by inch from his body, until the dullest traces of it remained in his pounding skull. 

Voices murmured alongside the beeping in Gavin’s ears. They were warped, dulled sounds, like they were on another plane of existence. Gavin pulled his face away from the hands on his mouth, his own blood sticky on his chin. “What happened?” he croaked, broken, something not quite there. He couldn’t hear his own voice over the blood pumping in his ears. 

Dr. Quinn’s voice rose above it. “You need to take a deep breath for me,” she said, her hand on his chest, the other holding something too small for Gavin to recognize. “Can you do that, Gavin?”

He did as he was asked, the tears that rolled down his cheeks cooling his heated face. The unknown white figure reached out to wipe a napkin across his lips, and Gavin grunted as the nurse worked a stiff cylinder of cotton into his mouth. All he sensed was blood, tears, and long, agonizing silence broken up by the heart monitor in the corner, beeping to the thrum of his blood under his skin. 

Then, “I need you to stay calm for me, Gavin.” Dr. Quinn nodded to the white figure and he stepped back, returning to his seat. “I know this is unfamiliar and disorienting, but you’ll be back home very soon.” Her voice seemed strained—Gavin didn’t have to wonder why, of course—and she kept herself quiet, pacing her every word. “Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

Gavin lowered his gaze. He thought of the android revolution, of Connor fucking with the DPD’s evidence, and the resulting bruise when Connor knocked him out. And then he remembered when he woke up on one of the DPD’s couches, groggy, not even knowing what time it was or how long he’d been out, and took the first unanswered case in the archive. Everything after that was just flashes, snippets of memory. “I don’t know,” he said, slow. “I…took a case. I’m—I’m a detective.”

“I know.” Dr. Quinn ushered him to continue.

Gavin gulped, swallowing the blood that trickled from his tongue. “I guess I—I was on my motorcycle going to the scene where the guy got arrested, and when I got there, I….” He couldn’t continue. “I don’t know.”

“Post-traumatic amnesia isn’t surprising considering what you went through,” said the white figure from his stool. Gavin couldn’t place his voice, couldn’t place his frame; why was he here instead of focusing on the heap of work that Gavin was sure to have piled up? “Once you stabilize, perhaps you’ll remember what happened.”

Gavin frowned, wariness grating across his ribs. “Well, why can’t anyone _here_ give me an answer?”

The nurse piped up, “It’s not that simple. You hurt yourself when we just told you how long you’ve been here.”

At that, Gavin winced, his mouth metallic with blood, a reminder. “I’m calm,” he insisted. “I can’t stand everyone jumping around the damn point anymore.”

Dr. Quinn and the nurse shared a look. The heart monitor rose from the silence again, annoying, anxious, but stable. “A semi crashed into you at about sixty-one miles per hour,” Dr. Quinn began. “And flung you off your motorcycle onto the highway. For lack of better phrasing, you took the brunt of the damage on your right side, and your arm…it became mangled and deformed.”

Dread pooled in Gavin’s stomach and left behind nothing but nausea. It coated his insides, a thick, _gurgling_ concoction of disbelief. He flung the word off his tongue, his heart skipping every other beat: “And?”

“Well….” Dr. Quinn drew in a deep, deep breath as the nurse checked Gavin’s fluids. “You suffered from multiple bone breaks and fractures, internal bleeding, and of course near-fatal external wounds.” She shook her head, the edges of her face blurring even more into her hijab. “It’s a miracle you were still alive when the paramedics got there.”

“No need to emphasize that,” Gavin muttered. He was cold, numb. His heart throbbed in his throat. The nurse had given him more anesthesia. “Five weeks doesn’t seem…as insane now, at least.” His tongue grew heavy, as did his eyelids. He fought it off as best as he could, wanting to snap and fight his way out of this situation, out of this hospital. The blue walls, the nurse’s blue scrubs, the white white white of Dr. Quinn’s coat and that damned figure that called himself Gavin’s partner; Gavin felt dead, his consciousness inside a decaying body. 

“That’s not all.” Dr. Quinn put her hand to her mouth, and Gavin tasted his fear on his lips. “Like I said, it was a miracle you were alive.”

“You don’t have to keep sayin’ it,” Gavin snapped. “What’s your point?”

Dr. Quinn sighed and kept her head tilted down, almost apologetic. She lowered her hand and hid both of them behind her back. In a careful monotone, she replied, “We weren’t able to salvage your right arm from the damage it took. Your bones became millions of crushed shards, almost like glass, and there was nothing we could do to fix it except to remove it entirely.” She met Gavin’s gaze, and he could finally make out the details of her expression: pity.

For a moment, the room imploded, a constant ringing in Gavin’s ears. His body pulsed, hot to cold then hot again. Even if he wanted to look at his arm, he couldn’t, his limbs numb to the pain, numb to the desperate wish of his brain to move, the fact that one of them was gone, just like that. His chest burned, dry and sharp, and the nausea in his stomach rose up his throat but he only tasted blood and bile on the back of his tongue, nothing else in his stomach. 

The room was a flurry of color. The nurse urged his head to the side and placed a bag under his chin. Gavin spat the soaked cotton cylinder into it and took slow, deep breaths in and out of his mouth so he couldn’t smell the bile. Dr. Quinn came into his peripheral and he wanted to scream, but he was trapped inside his own weak, destroyed body.

Dr. Quinn’s expression was stoic as she came up to Gavin, and now Gavin recognized the small object she’d been holding in her hand: a syringe. “I hope you understand that we _had_ to do this.” She wrapped her fingers around his numb, limp left arm. Gavin didn’t want to think about how much he had left of his right one. “It never would’ve healed properly, and if we let it try, you would’ve been in agony for the rest of your life.” 

Gavin didn’t feel her insert the needle into his skin, couldn’t see her, but he knew she’d done it when his head spun, the room’s colors merging into an array of blues, whites, pinks, bronze.

And then, black.

When Gavin woke, the thick scent of warm soup assaulted his nose. The back of his throat closed up as he fought to not gag. His body was damp with sweat, but at least his anesthesia was wearing off again, each part of him heavy and thick like gravity itself didn’t want him to move. He still couldn’t look at his amputated arm, but it wasn’t the fault of the drugs this time.

He exhaled through his teeth and lolled his head to the side to find the scent’s source. Gavin’s ‘partner’ placed a tray over his lap, and Gavin couldn’t help but groan.

“Awake, Detective?” His partner picked up a spoon from the tray and stirred the broth: chicken noodle. “I acquired some food for you. I hope it’s to your liking.” 

Gavin tried to repeat those words in a mockery of his partner’s voice, but his tongue was too limp to move. All he did was garble nonsensical words, so close to being understood, but just enough to fall short. 

His partner only hummed, lifting the spoon from the soup and bringing it to Gavin’s lips. “Eat.”

“Fuck off,” Gavin said, the words rolling off his heavy tongue. But he didn’t put up a fight, his stomach tight with a weak hunger. The silence hung heavy, but the air pressed down on him even more so.

“Dr. Quinn requested I tell you about a task she gave you,” his partner said when the soup was almost done. He pulled out a round, gray, palm-sized device and placed it on the edge of Gavin’s tray. “She suggested you log your health and mentality in this recording device at least once a day. Anything would suffice, as long as it relates to how you’re feeling.” 

A wave of unease churned in Gavin’s chest, unease and apprehension. He didn’t look at his arm. “I feel like shit,” he said. “What more do they need?”

His partner brought another spoonful of soup to his lips. “Even if you have nothing new, I’m sure Dr. Quinn would appreciate it.”

Gavin could only grunt in response, lifting his gaze to his partner’s lifeless face. “Who are you?” he asked, aimless. No one cared for him like this—well, no one except Tina, but even she’d help sparingly, though that was Gavin’s own fault. 

“I am…not sure yet,” his partner said as he gathered the last puddle of broth in the spoon. “I’m not too sure when I will.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Gavin grumbled as his partner brought the spoon to his mouth, and he swallowed with only a small complaint from his stomach. 

His partner let out a low hum. “Have you not figured out that I am an android, Detective?”

It was numbing, that revelation. Gavin couldn’t be disappointed or angry; with the android’s revolution, time only ticked down until he’d get a bot of his own. Still, his tongue started to taste like bile, or blood—just nausea, though Gavin worked to keep the soup in his stomach down. “Of fuckin’ course you are.” 

It was quiet for a long time, only the clink of plastic and silverware reaching Gavin’s ears as the android cleaned up his tray. The silence pressed against Gavin’s chest, but a question still worked its way past his lips: “Did they replace me?”

The android paused and stared at him, hesitating, before replying with, “I would not be here if they wanted me to replace you.”

Gavin grunted, a frown weighing down his face. Those words didn’t ease his anxiety. “So I—I still have my job?”

“And somewhat less vacation time,” the android said, and this time Gavin could focus on the slight smile on his face. 

“Don’t humor me.” Gavin turned away from him and closed his eyes, willing his frustrations away. He still had his job; that was all that mattered. “So do you have a name or not, tin can?”

“I’ve been content to go by RK900 for now,” the android said. “I haven’t thought about registering a name for myself yet.”

Gavin let out a grunt. “What a mouthful.” A sigh escaped him, and this time, he let that sound fade until the quiet stretched on. 

He and RK900 sat in that room for a while, Gavin trying to not let his thoughts wander too far too fast. Still, the nagging in the back of his mind kindled a burning in his chest. Five weeks. He supposed that explained the lack of casts or bandages, though his body still ached with numb awareness. 

Hesitant, Gavin tested a glance at his right arm. The sight of the…the stump drew a wheeze from his lungs, but he couldn’t look away from it, the rounded cutoff point at the middle of his bicep. Still, the thing was wrapped in light bandages so Gavin couldn’t see the extent of the amputation. The bandages were probably more for him than his arm. 

Gavin inhaled a slow, slow breath as he gazed at that stump. It created a sensation that he couldn’t quite place, a feeling of a phantom touch, that he could grasp his bedsheets, if only he tried, desperate, despite everything that told him otherwise. 

A hand on his good shoulder forced his gaze away, and the sight of RK900 looming over him made him want to scurry away, to hide in the dirt and never come back out. 

“It’s almost nine-thirty,” RK900 said, soft. Gavin let his shoulders loosen. “You should make the first record of your health and then try to sleep. _Without_ the aid of drugs.”

With a nod, Gavin let RK900 adjust his blanket, and after a moment, Gavin mumbled, “Morphine?”

RK900 breathed a sigh. “Just enough to make you drowsy, Detective.” He brought the recording device out of his pocket and held it up to Gavin’s lips. “State your name before you give your report.” At Gavin’s nod, RK900 pressed a button on the device that lit up a small red bulb.

“My name is Gavin Reed,” he rasped into the recorder, the edges of his vision blurring into the blue walls while RK900 watched on, faceless. Sentinel. “And…I fucking lost my arm in a car accident.”

“And?” RK900 pressed, relentless, gentle.

“And it fuckin’ _sucks._ ” Gavin’s voice wavered, its sharp edge growing blunt as he bit back a choked sob. “No matter what Fowler says, I’ll probably lose my job; I can’t even shoot anymore, and you’re a damn _android,_ you can probably do my job along with three other ones by yourself, but I have to see you at—at my fuckin’ bedside, and, and….” He squeezed his eyes shut, and the thin trails of wetness on his cheeks grew, salty and warm and everything Gavin hated.

He couldn’t draw in a breath, each one a short wheeze from his lungs, pathetic, awful, frustrating. Gavin turned his head toward RK900 and tried searching that blurry face with his watery eyes, finding nothing. “Is that good enough for you?”

Silent, RK900 nodded, a slight yellow glow at his temple in Gavin’s sea of blue. “Yes,” was all he said, a hint of something painfully human in his tone. “Thank you.” 

Exhaustion raked down Gavin’s eyes, pathetic, pathetic exhaustion. “Don’t…tell anyone about this, got it?” He tried to put malice in his words, but only heard dread.

“Understood, Detective.” RK900 brought the recording device to his chest. “I understand that you have a reputation to uphold.” He clicked in the record button and the red dot faded, then took a seat on his bedside stool. “I suggest you go to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll see if you can get some fresh air.”

A raw, weak cough left Gavin’s lungs. “You gonna stay here?”

RK900 peered at him, analyzing. “No. I will leave when I ensure you are going to fall asleep.”

“Creep.” Still, Gavin closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let his exhale carry out his every worry, until all that was left was his empty skull, his empty chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for a rewrite? I hope it was good, and I'll do my best to get the next chapters out fast :) Thanks again for reading, and remember to stay safe and wash your hands!!!


	2. Fragment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are different than what I’d thought you’d be,” RK900 said after a moment, one hand resting on his lap while the other rested at the edge of Gavin’s bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here's the long-awaited chapter two! Thank you all for your patience! My beta finished looking this over literally like five minutes ago fjksdhdlaks but!! Here it is! I hope you enjoy! :)

His eyes cracked open and this time, Gavin was still, waves of goosebumps prickling all across his cold, sweaty skin. The room was a haze, the only light coming through the window in the door, but even that was blocked by the curtain. Shivers wracked through Gavin’s aching limbs and the shadows swayed, reached for him, and a hand emerged from the darkness, it a soft pressure on Gavin’s chest.

“Calm,” RK900 said, quiet, a wisp in the air. His blue LED lit up his face, still too dark and far away for Gavin to make out any details other than his familiarity. “You are okay.”

Gavin’s chest rose and fell to his hammering heart, everything too cold, too hot, too much. He tested the movement of his hand, rising, lethargic, to grasp onto RK900’s, his nails digging into skin that felt far, far too real. 

And RK900 let him, those eyes a glowing electric blue in the low light, just peering at Gavin, analyzing, analyzing. Gavin couldn’t stop shivering from the heat while the acid in his stomach threatened to crawl up his throat. He coughed, shoving RK900’s hand off his chest, and croaked out, “Water.”

RK900 didn’t hesitate to rise from his stool and turn on the small sink against the wall, bringing a paper cup under the stream before bringing it to Gavin’s lips. He didn’t utter a word, and Gavin couldn’t even decipher his damned expression. 

The water that slid down Gavin’s throat was lukewarm, settling in his stomach and mixing with the acids, gurgling at the prospect of being filled. Gavin ignored it, ignored his pain, and once RK900 pulled the cup away, he planted his hand behind himself, his weak muscles straining to push himself up. 

“What do you think you’re  _ doing? _ ” RK900 grasped his arm, his other hand going to Gavin’s back; Gavin’s sweat clung to his hospital gown, cold and stifling against fresh air, but RK900’s hand was warm. 

Gavin’s stomach churned along with his head. The tubes connected to his body swayed, an echo of them, glaring with too much white, following behind the originals. “I need t’ get out,” Gavin wheezed as he pawed at RK900’s chest. “I can’t take this anymore, I can’t stand this, I….” 

RK900 laid him back on the bed, the sheets damp with sweat. Instead of blue, his glow pulsed a pale yellow. “Go back to sleep, Detective.”

“I’ve been asleep this whole fuckin’ time,” Gavin snapped back, though his words dripped, sluggish, from his tongue, and his limbs felt like lead. “I’m gonna go fuckin’ crazy, tin can.”

Silence met his words. And then, “I will find you something to make you more comfortable.” When RK900 stood up, Gavin lunged forward, and all he saw was red.

The tubes connected to him grew taut and  _ tore _ at his flesh, but Gavin clutched RK900’s jacket in his hand anyhow, even as he choked on his heart, twisted up by his intestines, his stomach pressing in on his lungs that strained to fill with air. 

_ Beep! Beep! Beep! _

It was a muffled sound, his heartbeat. Gavin locked eyes with RK900, his agony desperate to remold itself into rage, but he didn’t have the strength to fool himself into calling his fear anger. His blood pulsed, boiling, under his skin, the blue glow of RK900’s eyes tinted red, that purple light throbbing against Gavin’s skull. For a moment, Gavin thought he could hear the machinery in RK900’s chassis, everything working far too fast to come to a conclusion. 

The seconds passed in heartbeats. RK900’s gaze was as unnerving as always, piercing through Gavin as if he was just a slab of information to be read and dealt with accordingly. Gavin’s chest  _ burned _ at that thought, burned with humiliation and helplessness. 

Yet, even then, the thought of being alone in this dark, dark room was more like hell than any alternative.

Slow, RK900 pried Gavin’s fingers from his jacket and lowered him, once more, onto the bed. As the tubes adjusted, Gavin couldn’t help a muffled cry as they shifted against tender, bleeding flesh. 

“Do you wish for me to call the nurse?” RK900 asked, quiet, but Gavin couldn’t move, his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw set while drops of blood speckled through his gown. 

A moment passed, and Gavin breathed. “No,” was all he said, the word a fragile exhale. 

“…Understood.” RK900 settled back in his stool, and the red that had crept up from the edges of Gavin’s vision faded away. “You are different than what I’d thought you’d be,” RK900 said after a moment, one hand resting on his lap while the other rested at the edge of Gavin’s bed. 

Gavin didn’t know what to make of those words, but he was too weak to say anything anyway. His head swam with emotions, fatigue a solid weight on his chest. 

Again there was that piercing, all-knowing gaze, and the room grew too big, Gavin an insignificant speck. Then, something changed when the light from RK900’s eyes softened. “I have something to show you.” He turned his palm up, a screen flickering an inch above his hand’s surface, and when he looked to the ceiling, so did Gavin.

Stars coated the room—they clustered together in millions of miniature pinpoints, twinkling in their misty sea. Gavin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sky this way. His fingers relaxed their grip on his sheets—when had they grasped them?—and a warmth soothed the ache in his skull. 

Exhaustion tried to overtake him, but there was enough fight left for him to rasp, “Maybe you were right, about the sleep thing.” RK900 let out a gentle chuckle, and then Gavin was gone.

Sunlight shone through an open window behind Gavin’s bed, warming him from the chill of last night. He pried himself out of his drowsiness, his body more lethargic than his mind, and tried twisting around to look out the window, but he drew in a sharp hiss when he pulled on his tubes. Careful, he laid back on the bed with a groan, then glanced at RK900, still in his chair.

He seemed asleep, his eyes closed as he sat, frozen, on the stool. His LED was a dull gray, blue flickering within it every so often, the shine of the sun casting a glare on it that shot right into Gavin’s eyes. 

Gavin held back a grumble and waved his heavy hand at RK900. “Hey, tin can—” 

RK900’s LED flooded with blue and he opened his eyes, ignoring Gavin’s suppressed yelp. “Do you need assistance?”

“Shit, you freak— Uh, I’m fine. Or, well….” Gavin thought for a moment, letting his gaze wander the room, so much more inviting than what it looked like at night. “How much longer do I gotta stay in this bed, huh?”

“Yes, that is indeed a pressing question.” RK900’s LED flashed yellow for a moment. “You will need to get stitches for when the tubes connected to you are removed, and you are far too weak to live on your own. You will have to ask Dr. Quinn for a more specific answer.”

Gavin grimaced, but common sense overtook him for once and he let his impatience come down to a low simmer. “Well, how soon can I get this shit taken out of me?”

“Again, that should be a question for the doctor. I can call her, if you’d like.” 

“That should be a question for the doctor,” Gavin muttered back, spite in his teeth. “Fine.” A pause. “Why…are you here, instead of at the station, huh?”

RK900 tilted his head to the side in an imitation of confusion. “Considering how I am supposed to be working  _ with _ you, I thought overseeing your health was more of a priority than being at the station. Either way,” he lifted his hand and pointed to his LED, “I am capable of doing paperwork as long as I have wireless access to the station’s terminals. I have been keeping our work at a manageable level, so you shouldn’t have to worry about the workload when you return.”

A weight slid off Gavin's shoulders, one of many, but Gavin still felt the difference. “Oh, thank God,” he said, relief mixing with brittle self-worth and doubt. Where was the line between necessity and liability? 

Silence blanketed the room for a moment and distrust crawled across Gavin’s skin. It sunk into his flesh, opening both new and old wounds, tainting his blood until it spread throughout his body. And then something clicked. “You didn’t answer me.”

RK900 glanced at him, his muddled face a puzzle piece of confusion. “I assure you I answered any question you had with the best of my ability.”

“Well, I guess that’s the problem, then.” Gavin brushed his hand over his right shoulder, too much of a coward to go lower. His chest constricted, as if his ribs wanted to pierce his own heart. “Why are you  _ really _ here, 900?”

RK900’s temple shone yellow. “I…do not think I understand.”

“You’re not programmed to do any of this.” Gavin clutched his gown, resentment a heavy fog in his brain. “Don’t feel obligated to stay here just because I’m supposed to be your partner. I don’t need your—your self-righteous crap.”

That LED cycled, again and again, its golden glow almost misplaced in RK900’s palette. “I’m trying to understand that part of myself as well,” he said, sharp. “This is the first thing that I wanted to do of my own free will. Do not make me question myself more than I have to.”

Gavin’s throat closed up. His shame flared within his chest, and all he could do to hide from it was turn his head away and let his pillow swallow him up. The silence that followed rang in Gavin’s ears, and at that moment, he wouldn’t have minded going back into his coma.

A hand rested on Gavin’s arm. “I’d like to believe my intentions are good,” RK900 murmured, smooth and cool, cutting through Gavin’s heated anxiety. “I will do my best to ensure you think the same.” He retreated then, and left Gavin to his thoughts.

Gavin looked back out his window, at the gentle snowfall in the morning light, so he’d think of nothing at all.

Not long after, a knock on his door disrupted the strained, timid peace. Dr. Quinn walked in and Gavin didn’t mind her presence; even though she wasn’t quite in his good graces, talking with her at least made the clock tick faster.

“I hear you’re eager to get walking again,” Dr. Quinn said as she closed the door behind her. “I hope you’ll be glad to know that I’ve scheduled a surgery to get your tubing out later today.”

“Very.” Gavin lifted his hand to his head, exhaling deep from his lungs. “I wanna get out of this bed as soon as possible.”

Dr. Quinn let out a chuckle. “I’ve heard that as well. I’m glad to see you’re this determined to recover.” She came up to Gavin’s bedside and swiped on her watch, and a translucent blue holoscreen rose up from it. “I have you scheduled for ten-thirty. You won’t be able to eat until after the surgery, but you're all set up to get fluids anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Will he be asleep for the procedure?” RK900 said, the pleading persuasion of his last words gone from his voice.

With a swipe of her hand, Dr. Quinn’s holoscreen returned to her watch, and she shook her head. “You don’t have to worry about that. He can be awake for the procedure without a problem, so we’ll numb him as needed.” 

A pebble of nausea sat, heavy, in Gavin’s gut, but he ignored it.

“And what will be his recovery period?”

Dr. Quinn gave RK900 a small, all-too-familiar smile. “You won’t have to worry about that. As long as he rests, he should be discharged and sent home by tomorrow.” 

A breath left him and Gavin clung to that answer, his freedom tied to its wavering prediction. 

Dr. Quinn checked her watch, then reached for the blood pressure gauge on the wall. “Since I’m here, I’ll take your vitals before the surgery—”

“I apologize for interrupting,” RK900 said, his hand outstretched, an obstacle in Dr. Quinn’s path. “But I can transfer that data to you directly, if you don’t mind. I’m sure it would be of everyone’s benefit to get this finished as soon as possible.”

Something crawled up Gavin’s spine, leaving goosebumps in its searing wake. 

With an amused sign and a roll of her eyes, Dr. Quinn showed RK900 her watch, and the skin on his hand peeled back to reveal the silver of his plastic chassis underneath before he pressed two fingers to the watch. “You’re lucky you’re accurate,” Dr. Quinn said with a chuckle. “And that I don’t mind.”

RK900 drew his hand back, its skin reformed. He seemed almost sly in his smile, though mirth flickered in the crinkles of his eyes. 

Too routine— That’s what this interaction was. A frown weighed on Gavin’s lips as his stomach churned, acid rising from his gut and seeping into his veins. His nerves prickled with the pain, needle-thin pinpricks teasing his right arm. He didn’t look. He couldn’t. 

“I’ll go check up on the other surgeons,” Dr. Quinn then said, drawing Gavin from his pain. “We’ll set up in the next fifteen minutes or so, and then some nurses will take your bed to the operating room.” She looked Gavin over, her smile tight-lipped. Gavin met her gaze with steel in his own. “I wish you a quick recovery.” She left, her words leaving an imprint of emptiness in Gavin’s soul. 

“Hey, tin can,” he murmured, a tiny, single sprout of hope budding in that imprint. “What day is it today?”

RK900 stared at him, the details of his face muddled by the blinding sunlight. “December 18th, 2038.”

That made sense, at least. Five weeks. A weight hung on the corners of his lips and Gavin turned back to his window to watch the snowfall. Though his vision swirled with the brightness, the low skyline in the morning light looked almost picturesque, if this window wasn’t in a hospital. Gavin’s ribs constricted around his heart, so lost and worn that even that pain brought some comfort. 

He’d be out soon. That’s all he had to cling to.

Gavin lifted his hand to his face, the skin of his cheek warm, alive. He couldn’t believe it. His stiff hand trailed down, over the bumps of his ribs. Despite the pain in his chest and the scars on his soul, he was alive. The memory was a haze, but it started to come back to him in torn snapshots, the wind rushing past his ears, blinding headlights, weightlessness. Darkness. 

“Do you wish to turn your bed?” RK900’s voice tugged at him, his thoughts scurrying to the furthest depths of his head. “The view from here is quite nice when you don’t have to strain your neck.”

Apparently he’d seem to know that pretty well. Gavin didn’t let those words escape him, though, instead resigning himself to a meek nod. RK900 stood and Gavin watched as he grasped the bed’s plastic footboard and unlocked the wheels. He took care around any hanging cords and tubes as he turned the bed sideways, and Gavin squinted at the sunlight that now shone on his face. Still, it was refreshing, a sign of life within these sterile walls.

Gavin basked in the warmth for a moment, letting the light soothe him to his bones. Miniature cars continued on their way on the streets below, their hoods glinting with bright snow. Strangers, all of them, but so familiar in the landscape all the same. 

When Gavin looked back, clarity vanished from his sight. “What’s with you?” he said, a whisper, while RK900 looked on from his stool. “My eyes—?”

“They’ll go back to normal soon.” RK900 was quick to reply, his folded hands blurring together against the white and black of his clothes. “Due to the nature of your accident, much of your amputated arm lost its organic nerve endings.” He looked away then, staring past Gavin to the window. “A node was implanted on the left side of your brain in the hopes of reconnecting those damaged nerves.”

“Oh.” Of fuckin’ course. Gavin sank further into the emptiness of his own skin, lifting his hand to brush against his scalp. The hair on the top left of his head was short, stiff, choppy, at least hidden by the longer strands around it. He pressed further, the pads of his fingertips feeling the thin bump on his head, a scar long healed. When had they decided that he’d wanted that? When had they decided any of this at all? “Can’t they tell a guy this stuff sooner?”

RK900 let out a soft hum, acknowledging the question, but choosing to ignore it. Maybe because he didn’t have an answer, or maybe because he just didn’t care. “It will allow you to wear the latest in prosthetic technology.” Something sour crept to the back of Gavin’s throat. “If you so choose,” RK900 added, a hint of yellow at his temple. 

Gavin drew in a breath, relishing the burn of his weak lungs when he inhaled too deep. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he breathed. “What makes you think I want a hunk of fucking plastic for an arm?”

Yellow, yellow. That color seeped into Gavin’s chest and tugged at his despair, his anger. “After some use, you would most likely not even notice the difference.” RK900 folded his arms behind his back, careful. “Whether it’s made of flesh or plastic shouldn’t be a concern.”

“Fuckin’ easy for you to say,” Gavin snapped, clutching his blanket and tugging it up, up, to cover his stump. A flutter of anxiety shot down his throat and bloomed in his chest as blistering adrenaline. “You—you’re used to having parts of yourself replaced when broken, but humans aren’t like that.” His stump spiked with dull pain. “We can’t just— We got one stupid life, we can’t just pick our parts and change ‘em.”

Now RK900 was silent, that LED of his spinning a constant, churning yellow. It seemed to be the only thing Gavin could focus on, the only thing he could use to know what RK900 was thinking. “I will be more careful with my words from now on,” was what he said after a generous silence, and the yellow from his LED flooded with blue. He turned more toward Gavin, his head tilted just enough to make his rigid body seem fluid. “Still, there should be no harm in holding onto whatever the hospital gifts you.”

Gavin’s protest caught in his throat. How much of his life after this had been decided for him? “What else am I gonna have to deal with, huh?” He tipped his head back and sank into his pillow and its firm, cold comfort. “I’m guessing I’m not getting rid of you easily.”

A quiet huff of a laugh left RK900. It seemed almost out of place for him. “I would have liked to word it in better terms, but yes, I suppose so.” He glanced to the side then, thoughtful, hesitant. “I spoke with both Captain Fowler and Dr. Quinn to consider the best course of action. Both recommended someone aid you during your recovery, but while both would provide as much support as you needed, I was the only one who—”

“The only one who had enough spare time on their hands to force me to room with them,” Gavin finished, bitter. “I get it. Fuck you.”

Again, yellow. But even so, RK900 smiled. “You catch on quite fast, Detective. I’m glad we could come to an agreement, despite the unfortunate circumstances.” 

Unfortunate, huh? Gavin held a retort on his tongue, testing its taste in his mouth. It shriveled up when RK900 turned to the door, moments before a knock rapped on the wood. Then the door opened, the nurse from before walking in with another behind her. 

He’d be out soon. Gavin held his breath as the nurses grabbed the ends of his bed and his equipment, turning him away from the window and to the door. 

And it was just a moment, but he flicked his gaze to RK900 anyhow and something buzzed in his head, an itch on his brain, numbing and foreign, but solid enough for Gavin to cling to it, whatever it was. 

He clenched his hand, and the nurses pushed him out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phewie, that was a doozie. Lmao. But hey, another chapter! Based on this one, I think I'll be able to at least give you guys a schedule here: I think I'll be able to update at least once a month! And, I'm thinking about using my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HoneyButterYum) again, so I might post updates and WIPs of this fic there as well! Give me a follow if you want, it might take me a while to get used to posting my progress, but I'll do it sparingly so no one's spoiled for the whole thing lmfao. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this! I'm excited for it to pick up the pace :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you wish to overcome this, Detective?”
> 
> A fire lit in Gavin’s sternum. “Of course.”
> 
> “I expected no other answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...hey everyone. Here's another long, long awaited chapter! I'm so sorry for hyping everyone up only to make you all wait so long again. I'll talk more about that in the end note, but for now, please enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Anyway. [Black Lives Matter.](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/)

The next few hours were a haze of white and blue. Black thread wove around and around the wounds on Gavin’s skin, but he was free, sore and lost and finally free. And he didn’t have to guess what was in the pristine white case that RK900 carried. But bringing it up now, when he was so close to leaving that damned hospital behind, would just waste time he didn’t have. 

Dull light from the glowing streetlamps—few and far between—cast long, stretched shadows, warping the dim world that Gavin already had trouble bringing into focus. The snow fell harder now, thick flakes collecting on Gavin’s shoulders as RK900 helped him from his wheelchair to enter the taxi on the side of the curb. 

Gavin shuddered from the cold, settling into his seat and kicking off the clumps of snow clinging to his shoes on the outer rim of the door. He clutched his jacket tight, as if that’d make him any warmer than it already was. Then Gavin reached for the door, and only once a moment of nothing passed did he realize he was reaching with his amputated arm.

Fire bubbled and licked up his throat while his stump tingled, unpleasant, sharp. RK900 closed the door for him. 

The taxi rumbled with the effort of its heaters, and while the warmth thawed Gavin’s wound-up body, so too did it turn the snow on his shoulders and feet to slush. As he flicked off the clumps of snow from his shoulders, the opposite door opened with a rush of cold air, and RK900 slid into the seat next to him and leaned forward to put a pair of crutches in the front seat. 

“Any last parting gifts?” Gavin muttered, not looking away from his lap. 

RK900 nodded in Gavin’s peripheral, the case he carried resting on his lap. “Only well wishes and those crutches.” The taxi shifted and drove away from the curb, and Gavin let himself glance back, once. “And an extensive list of care tips.” 

Gavin’s frown soured further. He could take care of himself, he wanted to say, but his tongue rested, still, in his mouth, heavy and so, so tired. Instead, he asked, “Did anyone take care of my apartment while I was…?”

“Yes,” RK900 said, brushing past Gavin’s hesitation. “I hope you’ll be pleased to know that everything is in order and has been kept clean in the time you’ve been away.” Before Gavin could utter another word, RK900 turned to him and added, “As for your cat companion, she has been, as quoted from your friend, Tina, ‘a little bastard’.” Gavin couldn’t help a snort. “Though I myself do not understand Tina’s complications.”

Figures. “Tina’s always had a problem with her,” Gavin said with a wave of his hand. “She smells like her dog, and Jo’s never really happy about that.” He tilted his head back against the headrest and drew in a slow breath, another of his worries sliding off his back. “So were you and her the only ones snooping around my apartment?”

“I don’t think snoop is the right word,” RK900 was quick to correct, “but yes.”

“And, um, is Jo— Has she been okay?” 

At that, RK900 smiled. “She’s been wonderful. No harm has come to her during your absence, Detective.” 

A trickle of heat bloomed in Gavin’s head, throbbing at the back of his skull. “Good,” was all he said. “I hope she still remembers me, if anything.” 

“I doubt she would forget the one who raised her.” RK900 paused, then, his eyes analyzing and chipping away at Gavin’s walls, trying to unearth every last bit of Gavin’s sense of self.

“How much do you know about me?” Gavin breathed, caught like a cornered animal in that gaze, unease and apprehension wrapping around his throat. 

RK900 looked away, and the coils around Gavin’s neck loosened. “I do not mean to constantly make you assume I have bad intentions,” came his low voice. The sounds of the city rose up in the silence, the honking and rumbling of nearby cars echoing in Gavin’s ears until they again faded into the background. “I assure you, everything I’ve learned about you has not been done so with an ulterior motive. I would’ve learned the same at this point had you not gone into comatose.”

Still. Gavin’s stomach gurgled with anxiety— How much of himself was just data to 900? Something to know and manipulate to get the desired result— How did 900 see him? An amalgamation of traits and data? A stereotype of what others have said about him? Did 900 even see him as human?

“I am not perfect,” RK900 continued, a finality to his words that Gavin couldn’t begin to comprehend. “And I apologize for making you uncomfortable. I understand that it can’t be easy, having someone know you while you yourself see them as a stranger.” 

He brushed his fingers over the case in his lap, then picked it up and handed it to Gavin. “Take it. It’s yours.” 

Disagreement tugged down the edges of Gavin’s lips. “I thought you were just gonna hold onto it.”

“What use is it to me?”

That cut Gavin off fast, his retaliation reduced to a grumble in his throat. He grabbed his right sleeve and squeezed around where his arm would’ve been, and if he didn’t look, he could almost feel his fingers pressing into his skin. 

The case rested, unassuming, a weighted pressure on his lap. Its smooth, white sides cried out in the same way the hospital’s walls did: sterile and inorganic, too clean to be alive. 

Gavin unlatched the case, his heart tugging his ribs closer in an anxiety-ridden show of comfort. Again, sounds filled his ears: the rush of cars driving by and the chatter of pedestrians on the street. The prosthetic arm laid in black foam and was made up of silver plates, it itself smooth, too smooth like its casing. Too perfect. But, Gavin reached out, hesitated, then grazed his fingers against the dense plastic. 

Something solid gathered in Gavin’s throat and he choked it down while his gaze slid down to a thin, convex circle of metal embedded next to the prosthetic. “What…what’s this?”

“It’s a plate designed to act as a sleeve for your amputated limb,” RK900 said, words quiet.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

At that, RK900 let out a soft laugh and reached over to point at the plate. “A sleeve protects your amputated limb.” He pulled the plate free from the foam, and it wasn’t just a flat circle—something rubbery encircled the outer rim, which would cling to the sides of Gavin’s stump if he slipped his arm into the socket. “The inner side of the plate connects to the nerve endings in your arm, while the outer side fuses with the components of the prosthetic.”

Then, RK900 looked at him. “Would you like to try it on?”

“So I can look like a fuckin’ cyborg, with an arm like yours?” Gavin scoffed, throat tight, as he pushed RK900’s arm away. “I _don’t_ wanna look at that thing, and I _especially_ don’t wanna wear it.” 

RK900’s lips parted, but his words fell apart before they could be formed. Gavin felt his thinning patience, though, the air within the taxi gathering heavy on Gavin’s shoulders. “I will refrain from pushing you into it,” RK900 began, speaking slow. As if to a child. “But though I understand you are still in shock about what has happened, I do hope that you will at least be open to trying it on, if only for a little while.” 

Gavin let those words sink in as RK900 reached back over to shut the case. Now the quiet crushed him, but, stubborn to the end, Gavin didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride.

The taxi parked in the lot behind Gavin’s apartment building. RK900 pulled the crutches from the front and handed one to Gavin, and as Gavin fumbled with it, RK900 left the car and circled to the other side to open the door. 

The cold wind seeped into the metal of the crutch and Gavin’s fingers grew numb from their grip on the handle. He ignored RK900’s outstretched hand, holding his breath as he forced himself to stand, leaning against the car for extra support. Gavin’s stitches tugged and itched at his skin, but with a tight, strained breath, he took his first step toward the back entrance to his apartment complex.

RK900 took each step alongside him, making no more moves to help. Gavin supposed he had to appreciate that much, though his pride deflated more and more with each step. His muscles ached, screamed with each stretch, and he couldn’t help the shiver in his movements, his body trembling from the cold and the strain. 

When they stopped at the door—just the apartment complex’s door, holy fuck—RK900 pushed the door open and held it for Gavin to step inside, and after a handful of painful moments, shut it behind him, and Gavin thawed from the frigid air. 

“My key card—”

“Right here.” RK900 drew the card from his jacket pocket and swiped it over the lock on the door, then pulled it open and again, waited for Gavin.

Unease gurgled in Gavin’s stomach but this time he kept it down. He passed through the door, hesitating at the sight of the stairs that were his final obstacle between him and his apartment.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Gavin didn’t look, but felt RK900 stand beside him. “Let me help you,” he murmured, and Gavin swallowed, then leaned toward RK900, and his hands caught Gavin’s arm and back and steadied him as they took the first careful step up the creaky stairs.

Then they took a slow second up the small stairwell, then up the first half, Gavin shaking, straining, burning up from the pain, and up the second half, RK900 keeping Gavin up with what seemed like no strength at all. RK900 led Gavin down the hall to his apartment, keeping one hand on Gavin’s arm while he dug for the door’s key. 

Then, finally, the door swung open, and Gavin lumbered into his home, past his kitchen, shaking off RK900’s help to fall, boneless, onto his couch. He hissed at the impact, but the familiarity sunk into his flesh and relief seeped into his very soul. 

A scream of a meow sounded throughout the apartment, and Gavin couldn’t see, but RK900 mumbled a greeting to Gavin’s cat, her distress laced in her cries. 

And then, a light weight leaped onto the empty part of the couch near Gavin’s head, and Jo smushed her forehead against Gavin, her purrs echoing through his skull. Slow, Gavin reached up to her, and she bumped her jaw against his palm with a joyful mew.

And Gavin cried.

Time passed as if the apartment air was laden with dense mist, Gavin’s consciousness flickering, trying to see through the fog. Cement filled his bones, but he didn’t mind, muscles limp as RK900 took off his jacket for him. 

“Save your strength,” 900 said before Gavin could say a word. “I’ll take you to your bed.” And Gavin couldn’t find the strength to protest as 900 reached under his back and knees, lifting him up like a child. The weightlessness of it set something in Gavin’s stomach that tasted sour, but he swallowed and the taste was gone.

The mist in the air was still there, a haze that covered Gavin’s eyes, ladening the lids with extra weight. Each of 900’s steps rocked Gavin’s body while Jo let out gentle mews as she trailed behind, sleep a sweet whisper in Gavin’s skull. Words slipped past his lips, unbidden. “Why…are you treating me like this?”

900 glanced down at him, and Gavin didn’t mean to catch his gaze, but he didn’t have the strength to look away. 900 nudged Gavin’s bedroom door ajar and stepped into the dark room, laying Gavin down on the sheets. “I think,” he began as he pulled the blanket over Gavin, “that you deserve some kindness in the wake of your injuries.”

Those words carved through Gavin’s heart, and warm, fresh tears gathered in his eyes. He held them back. “Why?”

900 thought on that one for a while, and Jo took the opportunity to leap onto the bed and lie beside Gavin. Gavin trailed his fingers through the calico fur of her head, her presence a comfort he didn’t want to think about losing. All of this he didn’t want to think about losing—yet it would’ve been so, so easy for Gavin to go to that highway, reckless and prideful, and lose his life instead of hanging on by a thread. He couldn’t believe he was still alive, and, in a way, didn’t think he deserved to be. He wasn’t sure what exactly he deserved anymore, but he _was_ certain that he didn’t deserve an android nanny on top of it all.

“I learned much about you when you were in the hospital.” 900 sat at the edge of Gavin’s bed, his gaze on Jo but everything else meant for Gavin alone. “And about myself. I am still working through certain things, but I have a better grasp on myself, and humans, than I did before.” His LED cycled yellow in the darkness, and Gavin thought of the stars. “Despite everything, you’ve taught me the majority of what I know, be it direct or indirect.” Then 900 looked up and met Gavin’s gaze. “I suppose I’d like to learn more, if that’s alright with you.”

Gavin’s words stuck to his teeth and nothing he did could lift the weight from his tongue. “I s’ppose that’s fine,” he whispered, his tired eyes begging for rest, “Nines.”

The room glowed orange, and Nines smiled, small, as the dim light turned blue. “You know,” he paused and rubbed his thumb down Jo’s head, “you’re not very good at hiding things, Detective.” 

Gavin grumbled at that, his every thought jerking him from drowsiness. “Well, then you can go fuck yourself.” 

“Alright, Detective. I’ll let you sleep.” Nines let out a gentle chuckle and something beeped from his lap, and he slipped the recording device into his jacket pocket.

“Asshole.” But Gavin couldn’t work up the strength to add any bite. Nines said something, but his words were muffled, white noise, and Gavin succumbed to sleep.

He awoke in darkness. The curtains on his window blocked out the dull morning light, but the strongest of the rays still trickled through, glowing soft in the chill of the room, while his mattress cradled his body like a long-awaited embrace, one he didn’t want to pull away from so soon. Yet, his door creaked as it opened, inch by inch, and a savory scent wafted into the bedroom, Nines walking in with a steaming tray in hand.

“Good morning,” Nines said, a pleasant lilt to his tone. “I thought I’d have to wake you up myself.”

Something caught on his stomach and Gavin half expected to see clear tubing embedded under his shirt, and even with a glance to confirm it was just the stitches, he still hesitated to move. With a shred of willpower, he pushed his pillow back and sat up, leaning back as Nines brought the tray to him. On it was a plate of a sunny-side-up egg baked into glistening dough in the shape of a cup, with bits of spinach and tomatoes peeking through the egg white, spotted with pepper. 

“Oh my God,” Gavin breathed, mouth watering at the smell. “Aren’t you supposed to be a detective android?”

“Something like that.” Nines placed a small cup of milk on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. “While I had plenty of work to do in your stead, I also had a significant amount of free time.” He glanced to the side. “I filled it with learning how to cook.”

Gavin stopped mid-bite, quirking up his eyebrow. “Learning? Don’t you mean downloading whatever software to know it all?”

Nines shook his head. “I thought it would be better if I learned everything through trial and error.”

“You mean to tell me,” Gavin said around a bite of his food, “you learned how to cook this good without knowing _anything_ about cooking?”

At that, Nines smiled, a gentle laugh slipping from his lips. “Don’t humans do the same?” 

Gavin only shrugged, embarrassment hot in his throat. He filled the silence with food, the flavor of the dish, and literally the yolk, bursting on his tongue. Whatever Nines would make for him now would, no contest, beat anything he’d make himself. 

“I’m relieved that you like it, Gavin.”

Another hot flash gathered at Gavin’s sternum, but it dissipated some when Nines stood and turned to the door. “I’ll let you finish in peace while I clean up. Come out when you finish so we can discuss your next steps.” He motioned to the crutches leaning against the wall near the bed. “Please do not hesitate to call for me if you need my assistance.” 

“Yeah, I get it, tin can.” Gavin placed the last quarter of his food on the plate and wiped off his hand before reaching for the milk on the bedside table. He took a sip, and then, face still in his cup, muttered, “Thanks.”

Nines hummed, warm. “It was my pleasure.” And when Gavin lowered his cup, Nines was gone.

Gavin finished eating in silence, then laid his head back to stare at his ceiling. Despite the circumstances, this seemed too…normal. A facade to cover the worst of his condition. Gavin reached over, his fingers brushing against the bottom of his stump. Something familiar, bitter and derogatory, within him wanted to suffer in this emptiness. It flickered in his head, how he deserved this, how this wasn’t even the worst that could’ve happened to him. 

He turned his head to the crutches and, drawing in a deep breath, sat up, then placed the tray off to the side and hefted his legs over the side of the bed. Using the bedside table as a crutch itself, he stood on shaky legs, sore, but stronger than yesterday, and grabbed a crutch and worked it under his arm. 

Each step didn’t hurt as much as it did before, but the tension in Gavin’s stomach, those muscles straining to hold him up, tested his stitches’ strength in keeping him together. But hey, if a massive semi could slam into him and snatch only his arm, his stitches could hold. 

It was just a matter of trusting that they would.

Gavin nudged his door open with his foot and took slow steps out of the room. Quiet, early mornings weren’t foreign in his apartment, and neither was the gentle sounds of movement in his simple kitchen, but those usually meant Jo was up to something. But for once, Gavin didn’t have the energy, or even a reason, to care. He limped forward to his couch, legs trembling, and lowered himself with more care than yesterday. 

A bell jingled, Jo mewing as she batted at a cloth mouse under the small, square dining table between the couch and the kitchen, where Nines stood at the sink washing dishes. Gavin felt the frown on his face more than he showed it, the stranger in his house, doing his dishes, acting like he’d always been there. In a way, Nines could have been, but what Gavin knew about what Nines had been up to, and for how long, when he was in his coma was nonexistent at worst, blurry at best. 

“How are you feeling?” Nines said as he dried off the last dish with a towel, turning to catch Gavin staring. 

Words cluttered his throat and couldn’t disentangle themselves to run free. Still, Gavin forced out a scoff through the obstacle before snapping his head away, finding a better view out the balcony window to his left, hard to focus as it still was. “No different,” he muttered, the truth slipping through the cracks in his pride. “What, you expect me to be all better after some food?”

Nines hummed, brushing off Gavin’s sharp words. He placed the dried plate in an open cabinet, then leaned on the counter separating the kitchen from the dining and living room. Too casual. It was clear in the way he carried himself, casual for the sake of putting Gavin at ease. The blur in Gavin’s vision only helped in noticing how off it all was. Nines’s arms were straight, locked in place, bending at prime areas that said more about whatever studies on movement he’d done rather than his comfort. If androids even knew comfort at all.

Again, Gavin snapped his gaze back to the balcony. 

“Do you wish to overcome this, Detective?”

A fire lit in Gavin’s sternum. “Of course.”

The smile in Nines’s voice, simulated as it could be, was impossible to mistake. As was his steadfast resolve. “I expected no other answer.”

And, clear as the morning light that lit up the room, Gavin’s eyes focused, no longer needing to strain as he watched the gentle descent of each snowflake from the clouds above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope that was worth the wait! Again, I apologize for how long it took me to get this up. Unfortunately, due to all the stuff happening in the world, I've found that I'm bad at knowing how stressed out I actually am lol. I hope everyone is doing okay with the virus and the protests and the like, and no matter how small an action you take to help out, it matters! 
> 
> Still, with all that happening and constant summer classes, it's been difficult for me to find motivation to write. I won't make another promise I can't keep, but no matter how long I go without posting a chapter, I am, slowly, working on it. Thank you everyone so much for your patience, and I hope that, despite the wait, you'll all still enjoy this little story I'm trying to tell :)


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